Leaving
by FG100
Summary: Charlie has never been very good at communication. If he leaves now, he can avoid facing the raw emotions of the last few weeks. Set a few weeks after The Battle of Hogwarts.


AN: I can't help feeling intrigued by Charlie Weasley. He seems to be a character that never had much page space or back story, so I felt the need to fill in a few gaps.

Disclaimer: All of the magic belongs to J.K. Rowling.

Like yesterday, and the day before, the Burrow remained silent. From the outside, only the absent shouts of many red-headed siblings showed anything to be wrong. The scene remained as picturesque as it appeared on any other late spring day. The grass in the paddock still quivered in the slight wind whilst the early morning sunshine reflected in the light ripples of the pond. Above the house spread a clear blue sky, speckled only by a lone bird, a free bird, blissfully ignorant of the tears being shed below.

Charlie hated the bird. The bird lived for the moment; it didn't dwell on memories or fear what was to come. The bird could fly away from this misery and need never return again. The bird didn't have emotional attachments; it didn't feel guilt and its heart didn't ache from loss. Hate wasn't the word…envy, yes, that was it.

In Charlie's hand, slightly crumpled now, was a note, written to tell his family he was going back to Romania. Charlie didn't do conversations; he couldn't express his emotions and instead took the option of running away, offering only his rough scrawl as a means of communication. He'd been there for his family in those first few days, he'd attended the funerals, both of them, and he'd done what was expected of him. Yet the house was still in sight and the note was still in his hand.

He'd left the note on the kitchen table at four o'clock that morning, so that he'd be able to complete his guilty task under the cover of darkness. He'd walked to the Apparation spot, Apparated to London, walked the streets for a bit and then changed his mind. At half past five, luckily just before his mother had come downstairs, the note had been removed. It was now quarter-to-seven, and Charlie remained in the garden, out of sight, still undecided.

He could picture the scene inside: his mother's puffy eyes and permanent frown, his father's pale face and stubbly chin and Percy's vacant expression and quivering hands. How long would it be before his mother realised he hadn't come down for breakfast? Would she realise?

Until yesterday, his mother had held herself together better than anyone. She remained at Hogwarts longer than everyone else, helping to tend the sick until they had all been transferred to St Mungo's and then assisting McGonagall in seemingly immaterial tasks. Then she went to Tonks' mother's, where together the two women meticulously planned funerals and shared the burden of losing a child. For a while, Charlie had hovered in the background, holding Teddy, wondering how they managed to hold back tears whilst his eyes stung as he recognised familiar features in the baby's face.

The day before the funerals was the first that all of them had spent at home, or at least what was once was a family home and now was only a shell of something that had once made him feel complete.

In the morning they had buried Dora…Remus and Nymphadora Lupin, forever lying side by side. He was glad that she had someone she loved with her, because despite her tough, Auror attitude, she used to hate being alone.

In the afternoon, before anyone's tears had time to dry, it was Fred's turn. It started to rain as his brother was lowered into the ground. Not the drizzly kind of rain, but large drops, as if the heavens also mourned Fred's passing. To Charlie's left stood Bill and to his right Ron, both with shaking shoulders. Opposite Charlie stood George, now only a half, mournfully alone, yet bravely trying to keep his humour.

"You always had to get there first, didn't you, Fred? Suppose you'll find it funny to come back and haunt us now?"

Charlie was glad for the rain which disguised their tears, or George would have known that they had broken the promise he had demanded of them. Fred would have preferred for them to laugh, to tell jokes, to play pranks, but although attempts were made, without their main instigator, any hopes of mirth crumbled.

It was only afterwards, when the Burrow was filled with people, all smiles but sad glints, remembering a young man far too memorable for his own good, that Charlie noticed that his mother's façade was crumbling. He saw her hands rise to her face and her leave the living room, but then his eyes met Bill's and betrayed Charlie's own fear. It was therefore Bill who followed her and who spoke the words of comfort that Charlie knew he would never have been able to find.

It was of this moment that Charlie thought when he hesitated on the Apparition spot for the second time. He wasn't the brother that they could all depend on, like Bill, who always knew what to say, or the one who would raise a well appreciated smile, like Ron, who had begun to show a level of sensitivity Charlie never imagined him to possess. He couldn't admirably bring up Fred's name as bravely as Ginny, or even express apologies like Percy. Even George, in the company of others in any case, kept at least a hint of laughter on his face.

No, Charlie wasn't one to deal with emotional situations. He'd ran away from his feelings when he'd left for Romania seven years ago and yet…could he do it again? He turned to look at the house and again thought of the scene inside. His mother asking his father to pass the butter in a hoarse, raspy voice, his father's hand shaking, dropping it and Percy apologising again and scuffling about on the floor. He thought of his brother, alone, in a flat in Diagon Alley, an empty bottle of Firewhisky at his bedside and a mass of papers sprawled angrily across the floor. He thought of a grandmother, rocking a crying baby, haunted too by those same features Charlie had seen.

These imaginings made Charlie's insides contract. He'd never wanted to run faster in his life, yet as his surroundings blurred, new ones reappeared, and a question was asked, he knew what his answer had to be.

"You're here to say goodbye, aren't you? I didn't think it would be long."

Charlie didn't bother to ask how his older brother knew he'd be appearing at Shell Cottage. The Weasley siblings may have had their rivalries, but they were more close-knit than anyone ever expected. It was this level of closeness that prompted his answer, as he realised that in light of their loss, it was most important for them to stick together.

"Not this time. I'm going to stay, for as long as you can all put up with me."

There were a thousand things that Charlie could have said to Bill. Over the last few days, conversation had remained restrictively civil and morally upstanding, yet now Charlie felt he could finally vent his anguish and his guilt, his hopes and his fears. In return, Bill shared his concerns and rejoiced in his brother's decision to help piece the family back together. If Fleur was aware of the union taking place in her kitchen, she respectfully kept her distance.

That afternoon, five brothers, a sister, an almost brother and an almost sister (after much persuasion and lecturing on the importance of equal teams) mounted brooms and played Quidditch with apples from the orchard. Charlie smiled as he saw his parents and Fleur make their way down to the paddock to watch. His mother seemed to be attempting a smile. Charlie guessed that if he had just lost a child, the thing he would most hope for would be to see his other children, together and safe.

Charlie remembered the first time he had been allowed on a broomstick on his own; his father was just about to allow him to take off when his mother had shouted from the kitchen that Fred had done magic. Charlie wanted to kill Fred at that moment. He hadn't been allowed on the broomstick, instead having to return to the house to watch Fred (and by then George) give each other purple spots. He remembered the first time Fred and George had played for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, how proud he'd been to play alongside them and then how much he'd wanted to curse them when he realised they had written home to tell their mother that he had celebrated his win by sneaking Dora into his dormitory.

As he flew through the air, Charlie could almost have sworn he heard voices.

"Come on, Charlie, hurry up and catch the Snitch so we can celebrate!"

"For Merlin's sake, Charlie, if we lose against Slytherin then I'll disown you as my brother! And you, George, if you keep waving at the girls instead of watching where you're hitting that Bludger..."

The memories halted Charlie for a second, and he almost dropped the apple that George threw to him. Yet as he looked up and caught his brother's bloodshot eye, Charlie knew that he wasn't the only one to have heard the shouts. Tonight he would make sure his brother wouldn't be drinking alone. For the first time since the battle, he felt an odd sense of satisfaction. He was back where he belonged and, finally, he recognised just how important a place that was.


End file.
